


A conversation between Ghosts

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: The Diary Of Regulus Black [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Cigarettes, Death, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, M/M, Magic, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're dead, the song never changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A conversation between Ghosts

_“…We’re dead Regulus, let it go.”_

If I had galleon for every time I’d heard that in the afterlife, I’d be the wealthiest ghost around. It’s a funny thing, the afterlife; you never really know what to expect when you’re still living and once you get here it isn’t quite what you thought it would be at all.

As it was, I was still trying to acclimate to being dead; being utterly cognizant of the fact that you are no longer living is a strange and often times, terrifying thing. I have never felt as alone as I did when I died, that stasis that I can only assume is limbo was a total and utter darkness that felt all-consuming in ways that were oddly tangible for someone of the ‘recently departed’ status quo. I’m quite certain that I might be giving away sensitive information by even writing this, but honestly, what is to happen? I’m already dead, after all.

So here we are, a couple of ghosts having this age old conversation that had become something like our ‘thing.’ When Bartemius turned up here I can’t say that I was surprised, I always knew that our living, breathing counterparts were not meant to last; but I was a bit saddened still. I always wanted the best for him, even in my most selfish moments.

“Isn’t that precisely the point Bartemius, we **are** dead. How can I possibly let it go, as you say?”

I stared across the table at him, my legs crossed one over the other and my chin propped in the palm of my hand. He was, as always, the boldest possible contrast to myself, all sandy hair and wild eyed; constantly watching. Constantly waiting. Even this conversation was painfully ‘us.’ If you’d have known us when we were living you might laugh at the sheer irony of how little death seemed to phase us. I was still my morose and moody self and he was forever destined to be the psychotic ray of sunshine that broke up my cloudy days.

_“Stop being so fucking dramatic, Regulus.”_

He said, sweeping a dismissive hand through the air as a soft, impatient snort escaped him. I had to smile at this, for I was oddly reminded of a particularly rainy afternoon in an unimportant dungeon corridor at Hogwarts; but I’m afraid that itself, is another story.

“Why are you here, Bartemius?”

I posed the question to him after a long while of thoughtful silence, regarding him with a genuine curiosity that was not often seen in my eyes. Of course I already knew the answer to this question, I asked him this very same thing no less than three times a week, but I never grew tired of hearing the conviction with which he spoke; nor could I resist poking at the gaping hole that my untimely demise had left in both of our souls.

**“** _The same reason I am always here, Regulus; don’t play dull.”_

He lifted both brows and stared at me, silently daring me to take another stab at our wounds; which of course, I could not resist.

“But why?”

I ask, ignoring his comment on my capacity. I found myself leaning forward slightly in my seat, as if I was waiting to hear some exciting and new piece of information. My dark gaze watched him carefully, his ticks and imperfections were like an old friend and I welcomed them; he had always been special in my eyes.

_“Because you’re the one that got away.”_

He replied with a nasty sort of grin, reaching into his shirt pocket and retrieving a pair of cigarettes, which he dangled before me as if he were teasing a dog with a bone. I merely arched a thick brow, remaining silent as I watched him press the pair of papered sticks between his lips; intrigued at the way they seemed to cradle the things with their plump and slightly moistened form.  I knew he was simply going through the motions for effect; we were as he’d said, “dead” after all, it’s not like we had wands or anything really. He was puffing on the pair of cigarettes now, suckling them both greedily as he watched me behind that intense gaze of his. I blinked but remained otherwise unmoved, to which he responded with a roll of his eyes as he handed one of his prizes across the table to me. I accepted the cigarette, sliding it between my fingers and reveling in the knowledge that the nicotine stain would remain even after the last ash had fallen. This was the ‘thing’ with smoking, was it not? The ability to bring your fingertips under your nose at any given time and inhale that faint stench that would cling to them. It was comforting in its way, I suppose.

“You didn’t care then, why now?”

My brows shifted as I spoke, my cigarette perched obediently between fingers, its smoke silently curling in the air as it waited patiently to be smoked. I knew I was pushing particularly hard on our wounds, but I could never really help myself in that aspect. I did always love a good reaction.

_“Don’t say things like that, Regulus!I cared. I’ve **always** cared about you.”_

I instantly saw the shift in his demeanor, I could pin point the precise moment his thought process switched from mischievous to anger in mere moments. The barest of smiles curved my lips as I allowed myself this tiny victory; short lived as it was to be.

“Did you Bartemius? You continued to serve, even after…”

And this is where my victory dissolved into shame and my ghostly form shuddered involuntarily. Perhaps it was my own reaction I was seeking all along.

“Even after my failure.”

I finished weakly, thick brows knitting together as I shoved my cigarette between my own lips; instantly wanting to take everything back.

_“After? Do not speak to me of afters, Regulus. It was **you** who left me; **you** who abandoned me.”_

The sting of his words was like a comfortable sweater and I allowed them to wrap around me, inwardly flinching yet breathing them in still. It was a long moment before I spoke again and we sat there, regarding one another through the haze of stale cigarette smoke.

“I was trying to stop him Bartemius, you know that. We were foolish and throwing our very lives away and I just wanted better than that for us both.  I never meant to leave you…”

My voice was lower now, or perhaps it was simply muffled from the amount of smoke between us. I was never good at this sort of thing, ‘feelings’ had never been my forte, even if the man sitting across from me had invoked every wild and untamable emotion within me with his very presence alone. He was visibly wounded, I could see that; it reflected in the clenching of his jaw and the razor sharp gaze that flicked this way and that but never quite landed on me. I knew what my prodding would bring, I always knew.

_“But you did leave me, isn’t that just it? You went and got yourself killed you stupid prat and you didn’t even had the decency to take me with you. What was I to do, Regulus? What is it that you would have had me do? I had nothing, nothing at all except servitude.”_

His words were like daggers now and this time I think I did flinch.

“I was trying to save us all, don’t you see? By the time I knew I would fail, it was too late. I only sent Kreacher because I knew you would want to know. He was bound to take my secrets with him to the grave, I made certain of it. You were the exception Bartemius, I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing.”

I was leaning forward again, pleading with him in my own way. He knew all this as well as I, yet it did not stop us from reliving it again and again; perhaps this is our curse in the afterlife. Our pain inflicted upon us over and over, day after day. I would not be surprised.

_“I hated you, did you wish that in your last moments as well, Regulus? I cursed your name every day I lived on. Every innocent I tortured and every life I took was in **your** cursed name. I felt nothing but betrayed by your selfish final act, you may have spared me, but you killed me, Regulus, just as surely as you killed yourself.”_

I shrank back from the table at his words, head shaking slowly in weak protest. I knew he was right, I had known it that night in the cave with the inferi; I had always known it. I may have failed in destroying what I set out for, but in the end I had destroyed so much more.

“I’m sorry…”

I reply numbly, shoving the waiting cigarette between my lips as my gaze wandered the littered ground beneath us. There was so much more that I wanted to say, so many things that I wished to explain to him, if only to soothe his soul.

We sat there for a long while, smoking our cigarettes and basking in our torture.  I stared into the depths of nothingness as I waited for him to speak again, finding myself eager in anticipation despite the _familiarity of the scene._

_“It matters not.”_

He replied finally, a quiet murmur that was accompanied by a breathy grunt of exhaled air. My gaze immediately cut to him, watching him intently now.

“ _I spent a lifetime hating you Regulus, but it’s all in the past. I won’t spend another lifetime that way, even a cursed one.”_

He was rising up out of his chair now and I expected him to walk away, only to return another time so we might start it all again. You can imagine my surprise when he instead drew closer to me, tangible fingers curling around my wrist and forcefully tugging me to my feet.

_“You’re dead Regulus, let it go…”_

His words were a quiet plea to my soul, his gaze piercing me right down to my very core. I stared back at him wearing a rather fitting expression of utter blankness, mouth slightly ajar. How did one respond to this sort of thing? What were the rules in the afterlife, I did not know. I wanted to sag against him and forget everything else. I wanted to tangle my fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck and revel in the feel of his lips against my own. I wanted to lie down with him on a nothingness pile and never get up again. Oh, to feel the sin of two bodies joined together in every way; it was something I would eternally long for, this I knew to be true.

“I don’t know if I can.”

I whispered, leaning against him now, my nicotine stained finger smoothing over his form, drawing him in.

_“I’ll help you.”_

His response was a murmur against my ear that left me shuddering with familiarity, a soft whimper leaping past my own parted lips. It felt so violently real, the hard press of him against me, the firm grip of fingers around my waist. But we were cursed dead, this couldn’t possibly be real. These are the words I told myself as I raised my arms up, circling them around his neck and resting my face against him. He smelled like blood and sweat and just a little bit like the boy I was enthralled with back at Hogwarts; but even more still, he smelled like Bartemius. There were lips pressed against my throat and the garments I wore had disappeared along with my cigarette and I told myself this was real.

I wanted it to be real.

And it was.

_I’ll help you…_


End file.
